Honorable Disgrace
by Death Goddess Assassin
Summary: Kel and Joren - captured, enslaved, and employed in the home of a Carthaki noble. Mutinies and dark magic may bring them together so they can save Tortall and its alliance with Carthak - or force them apart so they can destroy it all.
1. Prologue

> **Everyone, I apologize greatly for my absence in the fandom. It's just I have been going through minor family problems, and I have had no chance to update or create a story. Sorry for the inconvenience and I hope no one has forgotten about me…**
> 
> **The Return of Joren will be taken off, rewritten, and reposted.**
> 
> **Also, I have greatly improved my writing skills, so you will have none of those childish sentences. **
> 
> **Disclaimer: I am not Tammy, so I own none of these characters, except maybe a few later on.**
> 
> -----
> 
> ****
> 
> The blade swung, shrieking, through the air, to clash with that of another. Sparks spilled from the impact of steel and steel. Pages winced at the clanging, grating sound the swords made when they crashed together. Sunlight glinted off the silver steel, blinding young boys with the flash. One sword found an opening. It slid against the opposing blade and twisted, sending the other sword twirling through the air and finding the tip of a youth's long nose.
> 
> "Yield."
> 
> Faleron of King's Reach grimaced and swiped at his brow, his expression good-naturedly sullen. "Good job, Kel," he said. "You've really improved."
> 
> "So have you, Fal," Keladry of Mindelan said graciously. "Instead of taking five seconds to disarm you it took me five minutes."
> 
> "Arrogance does become you, gentle lady," Faleron teased. "You must wear it more often."
> 
> "King's Reach!" Lord Wyldon of Cavall, called, "work on your stance and grip! They seem to be your main problems. Mindelan – your stance was also flawed. Fix it."
> 
> Kel carefully dammed her feelings behind a blank mask. The experienced training-master always picked on the tiniest detail when it came to her. She could have done twelve front flips up a mountain and he would have said she landed in the wrong direction. By now, if it had not been for her Yamani-trained etiquette, she probably would have throttled him.
> 
> "Could you teach me how you did that disarming thing?" Esmond of Nicoline asked, slightly mournfully, while the pages brushed their horses after weapon training. "I need something to surprise Quinden with next time I spar with him. He's beaten me every time."
> 
> A smile twitched her lips. "You might want to work on your grip, too. Your hands keep sliding out of position."
> 
> "Ah, Lady High And Mighty has spoken her words of wisdom," her best friend Nealan of Queenscove said in a seer's airy, mysterious voice. "Take heed, cur, and follow them if you wish to live a long and healthy life in your underwear…"
> 
> "Even if that advice _did_ make sense, I still wouldn't follow it," Esmond told him. "Honestly Neal, you're too odd for your own good."
> 
> Some eavesdropping pages grinned; Neal was known for his dramatic and peculiar personality. In fact, he was infamous for it.
> 
> The lunch bell tolled its vociferous song lazily, and pages quickened in their brushing, slipping their mounts carrots or sugar cubes before disappearing from the stables. Soon, all but Kel had left. She smiled and patted her unruly strawberry roan gelding, Peachblossom before putting his tack up. He blew at her as she rubbed her calloused hand over his soft velvety muzzle.
> 
> His deep fiery brown eyes were the last thing Kel saw before a sharp intense pain erupted at the base of her neck and she collapsed into darkness.
> 
> -----
> 
> The large black mount slid to a halt as its master pulled sharply on its leather reins. Joren of Stone Mountain, squire to Sir Paxton of Nond, stared intently at the brush on his left, cold eyes narrowing suspiciously. He swung a leg over the saddle, landing lightly and elegantly in the dirt, hands firm on the reins.
> 
> "What was that, Pyro?" he asked his brazen steed as it fondly snorted horse spittle at him. He patted the side of the Pyro's head absently.
> 
> Pyro tossed his head impatiently, as though saying, I don't care, now let's go back so I can eat my carrots. Hello? Are you listening to me?
> 
> Joren grinned. That was probably exactly what this feisty animal was saying. Then the brush rustled again, louder and closer this time, and the grin slid off his face like melting butter.
> 
> It's probably just a rabbit, he told himself. He drew himself up importantly. Besides, it's not like I couldn't handle whatever came my way.
> 
> A man emerged from the bushes. Joren automatically rested his hand on his sword, unsheathing it halfway. The man smiled warmly, and gestured for him to put it away. Hesitantly the blond slid the blade back into its sheath. Almost immediately the man lost his smile as Joren was jerked backwards, and swiftly robbed of his sheathed weapon. He blindly groped for his dagger, and had closed his hands around it when another man interrupted his line of vision, grinning cruelly down at him.
> 
> "A nice bit of noble flesh, don't you think, Juza?" he called.
> 
> "This sword is magnificent," another man murmured.
> 
> "We could get nice ransom for this lad –"
> 
> "No," a man said firmly, his voice strict, rigid, and controlling. "He's enslaved, not ransomed. Put him with the girl."
> 
> "The girl?"
> 
> "Yes. There was a girl among the pages. As useful as any man, I would say. Her muscles are bigger than this small boy's."
> 
> Joren writhed in outrage, both at being called inferior to a girl and being called a small boy. He bit and scratched, clawing frantically when he saw an unidentifiable man come slowly towards him with a blunt club. He growled, in fear and rage, before the club swung down onto the top of his head and knocked him unconscious.
> 
> -----
> 
> **Sorry it's kinda short, but it's pretty much just the prologue. I'm hoping this will be an actual story, not some plotless blah-thing like Fearless was. I hope you enjoy, and R/R, please. My friend, Nolee, the arrogant little bitch, wants me to tell you all to read her stories. Her penname is Nolee of Stone Mountain.**


	2. Missing

****

Kassi of Stone Mountain: O.o You're a horrible little bitch, you know that? . Do you, like, not like Nolee or something? Or are you like me and just want to punch her face in because her writing is so good ::glares:: But anyway…I'll see if I can put her in my story! She told me to put you in my story too. Thanks for reviewing!

Rubber Duck: Yeah, I thought about that. I just didn't put it because Kel was knocked out so there was no point in putting anything else after that. ::shrugs:: Thanks for reminding me, though; otherwise I would've forgotten all about it. Things shall be explained in this chapter.

Nolee of Stone Mountain: Of course you aren't an arrogant little bitch…whoever gave you that idea? O.o. Okay…why does this sound eerily like another conversation I had with you? The one where we were arguing over who loves Joren more? Yeah…and you gave me five Latin poolboys in exhange for him…what is it with you and Latin men?? I'll see if I can put Kassi in my story also.

Lynsi: Nolee has some kind of strange psychotic hold over you. Ever heard of Morgan le Fay, King Arthur's older half-sister? She was beautiful but she was an evil witch. Nolee's like her younger twin. Evil, bitchy, arrogant. Anyway, I'm glad you like my story! Thanks for your reviews!

-----

It was nightfall when Joren, hurting and swollen, moaned himself awake. The jerking of the wagon he was in tossed him around, knocking his broken skull against the sides. Birds twittered merrily around his head, chirping gaily before disappearing when h shook it. He moaned again and struggled to sit up. Finding his wrists and ankles bound with a heavy rope, he grimaced in more annoyance than pain and managed to sit upright and observe his surroundings.

There was no light in the covered wagon, save what the lanterns held by men outside gave. Nothing else was in there either - save someone who was staring at him with dark eyes, face impassively blank.

Joren's right eye twitched, his lip curling in distaste at his foul luck. So. The jumped-up Mindelan slut would be going wherever he was. Wonderful.

"What in the gods' names are you doing here, Lump?" he sneered.

"The same reason you're here, I suppose," Mindelan said, her voice devoid of any emotion, like it always is toward him.

"And why is that?" he asked coldly.

"From what I gather, we're going to be slaves," she told him. "There are others, in more wagons, behind us. I don't think there are anymore pages."

"How do you know this? How long have you been awake?"

"About an hour, I guess, enough for me to listen to what the men outside say."

"Did you get anything else?" Joren asked. He fought back a wince. He hated having to ask this bitch anything, but if she had any useful information, he needed to know it.

"Nothing important, really," Mindelan replied. "We're heading across seas."

When nothing else came out, Joren persisted irritably, "Where, slut?"

"You get more with honey than with vinegar," the girl quoted, and went silent.

More with honey than with vinegar, he thought, bewildered. What the hell did she mean by that? It's probably some kind of Yamani proverb or something. He had never heard it before.

A noise broke into his thoughts. Joren blinked and furrowed his brow. It sounded like a horse's whinny - actually, it sounded like a horse's scream. He saw Mindelan move her head ever so slightly to the direction of the screams. Men cursed, and they both were aware of rapid footsteps toward the alarmingly loud horse.

"Peachblossom," she said suddenly.

Joren looked at her. The light from the lamps outside cast a dim shine on her face, sending her eyes into shadows. In the gloomy glow, she looked like some kind of ethereal enchantress, an unfeeling seer without hope. He blinked, shaking his head with a smirk. Mindelan was none of those things, for sure.

"Who?"

"My gelding," she said quietly. "They took him with them when they took me."

Panic seized him. "Do they have other horses?" Joren asked anxiously.

"A couple mares, for breeding stock." Her face had returned to looking straight ahead, without emotion, without life. "But there could be others."

Joren met her eyes, narrowing them coldly to let her know that he was still better than her. Mindelan met his gaze square and firm. He sneered at her before looking away, keeping his head high. Truth was, those empty yet distinctly determined eyes unnerved him. He brushed the despicable thought of her away and instead channeled his feelings into prayers of his beloved Pyro, hoping he was safe.

-----

"Should we send letters to their families, my lord?"

Lord Wyldon of Cavall rubbed his temples wearily, his eyes screwed shut. The servant boy shifted his weight to his left foot nervously, awaiting orders from his master. With Page Keladry and Squire Joren vanished - without a trace, it seemed - along with their mounts, the world suddenly seemed to young and he too old.

Everything pointed to the direction that they were lovers who ran away together. Gareth the Younger himself said that, and Lord Raoul of Goldenlake and Malorie's Peak seemed to agree too. Everyone who knew _of _the page and squire, but did not know them directly, agreed with them.

But Wyldon knew different. None of their stuff was missing - their servants confirmed that - and wouldn't it be logical to pack before they ran away? And besides, Joren and Keladry…he knew their acute acrimony towards each other. It was too impossible.

Strange, he felt sorry for the girl's mysterious disappearance. He blamed it on guilt that she had vanished under his training, in his keep, but he knew a lot of it was because he feared she would not return, and would never become a knight.

Wyldon recalled how frenzied her friends had been. When she and Stone Mountain had been officially declared missing, their faces turned white and drawn.

Blast it all, that Jesslaw hellion even had tears running down his face, and for all they knew she could have been hiding in the tack room.

Somehow, though, Wyldon knew that was not the case.

"Not yet," he told the boy. "Wait and see if they show up, or if perhaps we receive a…a ransom note."

The servant boy bowed low and disappeared from the study.

Sir Paxton of Nond had been less than uneasy. He had told the training-master lazily and unconcerned that his squire liked the ladies and was probably with one of them. Wyldon did not rule that fact out, but he interrogated a stable hand, who had been there all day, and who told him that Master Joren rode his mount out into the woods, and neither horse nor rider returned.

-----

Neal wrung his hands nervously - a habit he only did when he was as fretful as a mother hen. His father, Duke Baird, observed him quietly, and began fixing a sleeping potion.

"Gods, Father, what happened to her?" came the inevitable outburst.

"I don't know, Neal," Baird replied, wincing at the tight-lipped, wild-eyed face staring at him, looking for answers that could not be given.

"Was she kidnapped? No, no not…not Kel, she's too strong for that, she would've fought…But what if she were outnumbered? Dear gods, did Stone Mountain kill her and drag her body somewhere? Maybe she's just…"

On and on he went, and Baird did he best to soothe his son, who may have just permanently lost his best friend. He knew of his son's many short-lived crushes. He knew how his son jumped from one woman to the next without a thought. But he also knew that Neal held one love true.

Neal held the Mindelan girl high on his pedestal. Baird often thought that perhaps Neal could not settle down on one maiden because he was looking for someone just like her. His son would never love her as a woman. But he could love her as a sister.

"Drink this," the duke ordered, shoving the clear potion toward him. Neal took it without a second thought, eyes fixed on the wall, his mind in some world, swallowing the bitter liquid down his constricting throat.

Watching him solemnly, Baird reached out and touched one smooth, bony cheek. Neal looked at him with eyes bright with unshed tears, and then hurdled himself into his father's embrace.

Baird decided not to tell him that he was taking this too far. After all, Keladry could return safe and sound tomorrow. But like Wyldon, he did not think it true.

-----

Also short. Oy. My apologies. I'll see for a longer update tomorrow or even this afternoon.


	3. Conversations and Reactions

**I shall dedicate this story to dracorium for being such a sweetheart. Maybe there'll be others, but for now, 'tis only dracorium.**

Are there any males reviewing? I wouldn't think many boys (or men) would read Tamora Pierce books, so I'm just wondering.

Disclaimer: Yadda yadda, you know the drill.

-----

I _do_ wish he would stop glaring at me, Keladry thought in irritation. It's not like it's _my_ fault he was stupid enough to get captured. Abruptly realizing that she was _also_ stupid enough to be captured, she blinked, and added silently, Goddess, even my thoughts make me look like an idiot.

Those hard eyes continued to bore their ice-like quality into her forehead. She intercepted his gaze, watching as he lifted his nose up slightly, giving him the appearance he was looking down at her. Kel stifled a sigh, and demurely folded her hands in her lap, switching her gaze to the point right in front of her, her expression tranquil.

"Lump," was his low and almost inaudible mumble.

Her lashes fluttered for a second in annoyance, then the peaceful expression returned to her face. It was best not to give any reaction to his childish antics, lest he decide to pursue the matter.

"Bitch," he muttered.

No twitch or blink or flinch betrayed her feelings. He continued to jeer, using words that continuously grew more vulgar. Eventually her gaze swung to his, and he sneered at her. To his surprise, she sneered right back at him, her mouth curving into a smirk, her delicate nose rising into the air. That meaningless snub nonetheless infuriated Joren.

"You jumped up merchant slut," he hissed. "How dare you –"

One scarred, brown hand lifted up swiftly in a gesture to silence him. Joren blinked, quite enraged she would think to act so superior to him, and was about to tell her that, when he realized why she had wordlessly told him to shut up.

"-that stallion is a mean brute, wouldn't you think?"

"The boy me and Segal caught called him Pyro. I was listening to him before I caught him in the woods."

"Nice piece of horse flesh. Could sell for a good price –"

Joren made a noise.

"How much longer until we get to port, Laurence?"

"Several more hours, just a little bit before sunrise."

After that, nothing of importance was said, as the conversation turned suddenly to weather. Kel sighed, running her fingers through her short locks. The blond looked relieved.

"Was the stallion yours?" she asked vaguely.

Almost immediately, Joren relapsed into his regular aloof and cool self. "None of your business, Lump," he snapped. "So shut up and leave me alone."

"I was only trying to be nice," Kel muttered.

"Why? So I would give you the honor of sleeping with me?" he asked smoothly.

The opportunity to goad him was just too sweet to pass up. Kel deliberately burst into uncontrollable laughter, practically screaming with it, forcing mirthful tears out of her eyes. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Joren draw himself up. She knew it was a slight blow to his ego to be laughed at in the matter of sex, even if it was she, The Girl, the Lump, that was laughing like a hyena.

"Like you don't want to," he said, his voice almost unnoticeably hesitant.

"Don't be absurd," Kel told him, her face blank. There was no sign she had been laughing hysterically just three seconds ago. Even the tears had vanished, quick as lightning. "Even the thought sickens me."

Joren grumbled something, unable to think of a good comeback, and slammed his back up against the side of the covered wagon, sulking elegantly. 

He's beautiful, Kel admitted to herself reluctantly. As much as she hated to confess it, he was. His satin locks, dark gold in the dim light, hung to his shoulders in a messy, white-blond confusion. Set among long, fair lashes, his sky blue eyes were large and stood out in his rosy-cheeked face. Trying to find some flaw in his looks, Kel finally decided he looked too feminine.

"Like what you see?" Joren shot.

"Hardly," she retorted dryly. "Are you concerned about this? At all?"

"About what?" he asked nonchalantly.

Kel stared at him, her Yamani Mask dropped as her eyes widened and her jaw lowered slightly. "About _what_?" she squeaked, her nerves frazzled. "About this!" She waved her arms frantically.

Joren blinked. The whore must be very upset to be squeaking and twirling her arms around like an idiot. "What about this?" he asked patiently, knowing exactly what, but desiring to see her reaction.

It was quite amusing.

In a rare show of extreme emotion, Mindelan twitched and choked. He frowned, alarmed as her face turned multiple shades of purple and magenta, eyes crossing randomly. It took her about twenty seconds to become under control again. That was…interesting, he thought dryly. He had _never_ seen the girl react like that.

"We're going to be slaves, Joren," she said shrilly. "We may never see out families or friends or country ever again!"

Though the shocking fact had truth to it, he nonetheless masked his feelings. "I know that, Mindelan," Joren murmured, his voice unintentionally weary. "I know it as much as you do. How can I not?"

Mindelan's shoulders sagged, her face Yamani blank. "The worst part would be if we're separated," she mused reasonably, and he silently agreed. He did not like her at all, but it was good to have a familiar, halfway intelligent Tortall with you if you were captured and enslaved. "We could at least work together to get out of…whatever we're getting into."

For a brief moment, something that felt eerily like admiration sparked, then it dulled to nothing more than earnest distaste.

Kel sighed, covering her eyes with a hand. The bump in the back of her head gave a nasty throb, but she refused to show it. She leaned her head back against the covered side, and closed her eyes. She should get some rest while she could.

-----

Kel was thrown sideways as the wagon suddenly halted. She grimaced as the bruise on the back of her head slammed against the front. Men were yelling greetings. Horses whickered eagerly. The smell of sea salt was heavily scented on the wind.

"We're near an ocean," she murmured grimly, gently touching the sore. "Or a sea."

"I think I would know that," a cold, sarcastic voice snapped.

"How long was I asleep?"

"I don't know," Joren said impatiently. "A couple hours."

A door neither had noticed before crashed open. Joren leaped to his feet awkwardly and toppled backwards from the uneven floor. A man's dirty bearded face broke into a yellow grin. Kel resisted the urge to retch.

"Well now," he said pleasantly, his voice coarse and unpleasant on the ears. "I almost forgot about you two." His black eyes hardened. "Now come on, you little shits."

When the moved slowly and stiffly, he became angry. "Hurry it up! We ain't got all day!"

-----****

**Hm. Interesting, huh? R/R, pretty please.**


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